


How the Sword Falls

by Marine_is_Hope



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Because Valerius, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Multi, Pre-Canon, Sort Of, The Author Regrets Nothing, headcanons abound, like so many, mercenary Lucio, references to alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-22 03:01:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12471988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marine_is_Hope/pseuds/Marine_is_Hope
Summary: Count Lucio rose like the sun and shone like a solar flare. Valerius could not help but be caught in his aura like a lonely planet looking for a place to settle. Then he was left, bereft and lonesome. But there had been times of victory, times of happiness, times of peace, and he refused to let those leave his city.





	How the Sword Falls

**Author's Note:**

> Whoo! One line of dialogue and then 8000 words later, we have a story that will probably be rendered moot in like five days. This is my life, ya'll. I am in Arcana Hell.

The first time that Valerius saw the Count, the other was standing triumphant, his gold glimmering in the morning light, between the broken gates of the castle. He looked every part of a king. A conqueror. 

Even through the stained glass of the throne room window, he was the focal point of everyone’s view. 

The very sun itself had come to walk among them. 

He was so much more than the pale, sweating man that was seizing on the throne. Gray eyes had long since rolled back into their sockets and froth dripped down onto the rich silks of the man’s raiments. Coward.

To die by poison by his own hand when they would all face the blade of their opponents (just as the men and women who had been there when he had taken over had, just as the ones before them). Coward. 

Valerius tried not to feel jealous. As the banging at the thick mahogany doors grew louder that became quite difficult. Many of the girls were crying. The youngest ones and the children had been sent down to the gardens the moment the Count drank his poison in a desperate bid to get them to the valley. To safety. It was unlikely to work, but there was hope. That was all they had left. Hope for a miracle. The ones that remained were silent, pitiful things. He wasn't sure why the previous Count had wished for their presence at his last act of defiance, but Valerius couldn't summon up the energy to hate the man any more than he already did. He would have done the same in the man’s shoes. Maybe. 

Probably. 

He picked up the sword that had fallen from the Count’s hands at the first start of the death-throws and looked at it for a moment. He studied it, watching the light catch on the simple blade.

The sounds of the doors splintering broke the relative silence of the room. Valerius flinched, moving to rise from where he had been seated on the ground at the right of the Count’s throne. He saw the golden helms of the mercenary soldiers through the cracks in the groaning doors. He saw the glinting of their spears. He heard the baying of hounds. He sighed and tried to contain the trembling of his fingers as he stepped forward, moving through the crowd of courtiers, who parted for him like wheat before the shaft. 

With two more hits of the battering ram, the doors gave way. Armored men filed into the room. Valerius paid them little mind, even as they encircled the castle staff and nobles (prisoners, hostages, innocents, no, wait--) with weapons and shields. For there, before him, walking between two white dogs, strode the most recent conqueror of his city state. 

His most recent ruler. 

His soon-to-be executioner. 

The man looked over him, his eyes scanning the crowd until they reached the throne. There they halted over the now still form of the former ruler. At the sight of the corpse, that beautiful face, battle-worn and dirt-covered, frowned. 

“Well, that is anticlimactic.” He said, and his delicate features twisted into something akin to a scowl. It was only then that he turned to face the rest of the room. “So, which one of you here is in charge after the late ruler’s demise?”

No one said a word. The knights shuffled restlessly, metal groaning against metal. They were ready for a massacre. 

Valerius, slowly, took a step forward, the clicking of his heels countering the silence. “I am.” He said.

Golden, thin eyebrows rose and pale lips quirked upward, “And what, pray tell, are you? His boy?” 

Valerious knew that look. He had seen it enough times, especially when he was younger. A pretty faced, small, unblemished boy and teenager. Without any family or guardians to speak of, since he had been taken away. Quiet and unwilling to make himself heard. They had assumed so often, especially when the Count’s gaze started to linger. That judgement, followed by pity. Thankfully the Mercenary's eyes had not progressed to that second emotion yet. 

“His Consul. Sir.” There was a general stirring, both in the crowd of nobles and in the surrounding guard at his tone and lack of respective title. The newcomer, however, just laughed as his hounds stalked closer to the fearful crowd. 

“And tell me, consul, how would you like to do this?” There was a glint in those blue eyes that was a step south of cruel. 

Valerius forced himself to breathe, then he slid down to his knees. The fingers that had been holding the blade tightly turned it, as the other hand came up to support the hilt, holding it out above and before his prostrating, crumpled form. “The city surrenders to you, welcomes to you, and embraces you, our new ruling sovereign.” 

“Do they now?” There was a chuckle in the other man’s voice, and Valerious let his eyes shut as he felt that gauntleted hand take the hilt of the blade. He wasn’t even surprised when he felt a rush of air and then steel press against his trachea. His breath still shuttered in his lungs. “Have you no sympathy, no love for your previous ruler? To throw away your loyalty so quickly?” 

Valerius forced himself to open and raise his eyes. “Not when most of us were forced to stay here, on pain of death, without contact to those outside. To our families. Not when we were naught but prisoners within a gilded cage. Not when we had no choice.”

To his surprise, the blade point fell away and the ringing laugh of the other man rebounded off of the marble and stonework. “I am not surprised at that,” He said, “Many of your families paid us great sums of wealth to encourage us to... release you. So, go, the lot of you.” Blue eyes glinted red. A trick of the light? A flash of magic? Valerius could not tell, “Or stay, if you so prefer. I have no idea how to run a city.” 

Valerius was never the type to second guess a gift, though he remained kneeling until the Count called for him. 

“What is your name, Dear Consul?” 

“Valerius, your Highness.” 

“Well, then, Valerius, if you are staying, come along.” 

……..

“Well, I will be the first to admit that this city is beautiful. A rose without a thorn.” Only the Count would be able to say such a thing and make it sound like a complaint. Valerius looked up from his notes once again, to stare at the man who was staring out at the teeming streets below. He bit his tongue when he wanted to state that the city had been through three rulers in the past thirty years. He wanted to state that the last of said rulers had taken up the hobby of holding the children and loved ones of anyone who opposed him hostage. He held his tongue.

“The people are tired of war and fear, Highness.” 

Blue eyes looked over at him and the Count chuckled, “I have only ever known war and fear, Consul.” Valerius tried not to let his eyes linger on the way that the man had perched himself against the window, furs and golden necklaces glinting in the rays that came down from the heavens. A God amongst mortals. A man who thought himself such. Valerius swallowed, looking down before reaching for his wine. Without thinking of it, he drained half of his glass.

“I could tell that from the way that your men still plague our streets.” 

“They will be gone as soon as they are paid for the campaign.”

“And when are you going to do so?” 

A look of surprise crossed the Count’s features, then he laughed. A beautiful sound that, even in the short time that he had known him, Valerius had come to usually dread. “I have not the means to do so, personally. That challenge will fall to you.” 

“Highness--” There was really no means to argue. No point. However Valerius also knew the state that the last Count had left the Treasury in, so he felt the need to at least raise an objection. The Count only raised an eyebrow at his outburst, quieting him immediately. 

“Valerius,” The familiarity of the name, the lack of title, was akin to a slap in the face, “I will only tell you this once, because your city is now one of peace and you have been sequestered within this castle of yours like a domesticated dove for years. My men hold no loyalty to your city, and only listen to me because I pay them.” 

“The treasury cannot--"That complaint was again cut short with a stare. It was not a glare, no, the man had yet to actually get mad at him. To threaten any of them. But there was that red glint in the other man’s eyes. Valerius felt the words die in his throat. 

“Do you want for them to raze this city?” The Count’s tone was almost conversational. It reminded Valerius of the tone the other had used against him when he had knelt on the palace floor, holding out a dead man’s sword. “No? Then find a way to give them gold.” That damned smile was still etched upon the other’s lips, though there was an almost sympathetic glint in those eyes. Valerius watched as the other walked forward until both of his hands, one golden and clawed, the other gloved and soft, rested against the wood of Valerius’s desk. They were mindful, at least of the papers and bottles. When the Count spoke again, his voice was uncharacteristically soft. Almost a whisper. Almost an apology. Almost a caress. “If anyone can find a means to do so, I have faith that it would be you.”

Valerius clinched his fists and waited to throw his goblet of wine at the door until the Count swept out of the room. 

He then got blindingly drunk, an action that he then regretted come morning.

The guards got their dues. The peasants grumbled at the lack of wheat on the market, but were too afraid of ever present steel to try anything. No one noticed the candle holders, metal frames, cutlery, and jewelry being shipped out to a blacksmith to be melted into bullion. No one mentioned the redness of the serving girls’ eyes when they left Valerius’s office having turned in what few trinkets and bobbles they had that reminded them of home. Valerius didn't even look at the soldier that he presented his late mother's wedding ring (tucked away with grain and gold and memories and hate) to. He forced himself not to remember the name, the face, the rank. He forced himself not to say a damned word. 

The majority of the soldiers were gone a fortnight after they were paid. 

Valerious got drunk every single one of those fourteen days. 

……….

“I was not lying when I stated that this city was beautiful.” The Count said, and Valerius just tilted his head to level him with a stare. He did not put down his pen. He wondered just when the other man had even entered his office. He decided not to trouble himself too much on that thought. The man had been coming to find him more and more. Valerius had to wonder if the other courtiers bored the man that much, for him to come to a consul’s desks to watch him write. 

“I never assumed that you were, your Highness.” He replied when he ran out of hope that the other would leave him to drink and finish his papers in peace. 

The Count crossed his arms and frowned, as though he did not like that reply. As if he were expecting some exclamation or outburst. He was bored with court life, it was whispered amongst the nobles. He had taken to training with the soldiers and guards of the city, a habit that Valerius was not brave nor drunk enough to argue against yet. “Where I come from, there is little beauty left. We tend to carry what little we have with us wherever we travel and kill for anything else that we need. We horde what power we have. What tools we can use.”

“... It sounds like a hard life, your Highness.” 

“Call me by my name. These titles you like so much are jarring.” 

“Ludovic La Verne?” 

Blue eyes blinked and the Count chuckled, “I suppose that such a name would not fit here. Perhaps another? What is a common name for this region?”

Valerius put down his pen, fighting against the headache that was beginning to build. He thought of soft things, gentle touches, and the fresh breezes of summer. He let his mind wander, if only for a moment’s time. He thought of the sun, and it’s brilliance as it hit the water of the fountains and the moats. As it caught in the glass of the palace. As it glanced up at him, high in a locked palace, from atop a horse, heavily armored. “Lucio, your Highness.”

“Lucio? It has a fair enough ring, I suppose. What does that mean?”

“Light.” 

That word drew forth a smile. “Perfect, then.” 

…….

The Count, in a surprising show of restraint, waited until after the spring harvest to hold his first party. Actually, party was a bit of an understatement. Masquerade Ball with nobles and foods and musicians that Valerious had not even heard of, would be a more accurate portrayal. 

Valerius watched the proceedings from beneath the feathered, white monstrosity that the Count had insisted that he wear with a blue and white overcoat. He supposed that it could have been worse. He remembered how the late Count had insisted the serving girls dress when attending him. Even so, it was an itchy nuisance and he wanted to leave. 

But the Count had requested his presence throughout the night’s proceedings. He had done so with a smile and a knowing look. So, here he was, drinking the night away in a secluded corner of the room. His eyes trailed after the Count’s horned head as he proceeded to dance with every single individual who decided to brave both his claw, mask, sword, and ridiculous garnet cape. 

It was not until the moon was high in the sky that he, himself, decided to brave the dancefloor, ducking in and out of the crowd in an attempt to get to the garden. The night air would do his fogged mind some good, and he was honestly thankful of his ability to still walk straight with the amount that he had imbibed. 

He should stop drinking so. 

He knew that he wouldn’t. 

Couldn’t. Always a creature of habit. It made the world dull enough for him to stand. 

The heavy spring air settled around Valerius like a comforting weight as he slipped into the garden maze, finding a secluded spot to sit, reaching up behind his head to untie the mask. 

“And so the loyal servant of state disobeys a direct order.” The face of the white hawk fell to the ground as Valerius flinched. Count Lucio let out a soft chuckle, the gravel beneath his boots scraping and groaning as he made his way forward to pick the fallen costume piece up between an index finder and a thumb. 

“Your Highness,” Valerious started, only to find that his throat refused to let him say anything else. He swallowed and there was that crimson glint in the Count’s eyes as they gleamed in the moonlight. “Why are you out--surely your guests will be missing you.” 

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” Count Lucio said, smiling, “I was beginning to grow tired of their fawning adoration and platitudes.” As he was wont to do. The man hated the gilded lies of court and only survived because he was good at spitting them right back. 

“And so you decided to follow me?”

“Your platitudes and adoration are just falsities layered over bitter insults. Much easier to handle.”

“I am so glad that you feel that way, your Highness.”

“Just so. You spit out that title like a swear. I asked you to call me my name, remember?” There was a giddiness to Luc-- the Count’s gaze that made Valerius shiver and rise. He was barely standing straight when he felt that damned metal claw clamp around his wrist. Not hard enough to hurt, but as tight as irons. He knew better than to struggle. He had seen the battle in the streets below the day of that first meeting. He had seen the blood. Thankfully what he lacked in strength, he made up for in more mental capabilities. And aim. 

“Let me go or, Count or no, you will find your doublet soaked with very expensive red wine that even magic will have a hard time getting out.”

Lucio immediately released him, though he was still grinning. “No offense meant, dear Consul.” He took a step back, brushing his styled hair out of his eyes with a skilled hand. Valerius watched those gloved fingers as they trailed down pale skin. When they stopped moving, he looked up to see Count Lucio smirking at him with an arched eyebrow. He was holding out the mask. He had been for a few moments’ time, Valerius guessed.

Valerius was too drunk for this attraction. This dance. It has one that he had been twirling alone to for far too long. He had been on his own for too long.

“Go back to your dance and masks, your Highness.” He whispered, his words rough. 

“And if I do not wish to?” 

“Leave me to my musings, and go.”

“Bold words for a civil servant.”

“Perhaps you should learn to take a hint.” He snapped, growing annoyed. 

“Do you want me to leave?” That was a question that Valerius had not been expecting. It threw him for a loop. It gave him a choice. A part to play in the decision. He hesitated and it was clear, for just one minute. Why was he even holding back? Lucio smiled, almost victorious. “By chance,” He whispered, his voice a near purr, “You should know that once I find a hunt, I tend to continue chase until the night falls.”

“And here we are, with the moon lighting in the sky.”

“So, let's end this chase with having you come up to my rooms and splitting a bottle of that atrocious spiced floral fruit water you enjoy so.” 

He should have said no. He should have rebuffed the other and sent him back to his glimmering court of smiles and masks and thrones. Instead, he kissed him, his hands coming up to wind in those artful blond curls that still reminded him of the sun. He felt the other drop the mask to curl around his back, and with a gleeful, almost victorious thrill, Valerius pulled at the red ribbon that affixed the horned mask to Lucio’s face. The bow was immediately undone and it fell to the ground beside his own. Lucio didn't seem to notice or care. Instead, he just pushed the smaller man over to the bench with his claw of a hand, and Valerius felt a thrill go through his body as one of the digits caught on a frill of his outer coat, ripping it.   
“You like that then?” He heard Lucio whisper, hot and heady against the skin of his neck. He felt a whine build in his throat. 

They did not make it to the bedroom. They did not even manage to get past the party. Instead, Valerius found himself sitting on the same bench that he had been brooding on not moments before, his outer coats on the ground, his shirt pushed up his chest, and his pants pushed down just enough to expose his cock. One of Lucio’s hands was fisted in the material of his undershirt and the claw was gripping the base of his right leg with a surprising amount of softness. It did not stop him from shivering every single time one of the bladed digits pressed against his skin, leaving small, reddened, raised imprints with every movement of Lucio’s fingers. When the thumb of that hand brought him up to Lucio’s lips. Lucio just chuckled as this happened and held him to the stonework as he licked a stripe up Valerius’s cock, causing it to twitch. 

Valerius murmured softly, his hands gripping at the edge of the bench, unwilling to let go, even as Lucio moved forward to take him into his mouth. He whimpered, averting his gaze, desperately wanting to reach. To touch. But--

Look at me. The words flittered through his mind, soft but persistent. Look at me. He shifted his gaze. Blue eyes flickered to red as the blond man lapped at his shaft. Let me see you. 

That was enough to break Valerius to concentration, enough to make his hands move of his own accord. He tried to keep his touch gentle, tried to keep it soft even as he pressed fingers into gelled waves. 

Good boy. The mental bond whispered, and Valerius whimpered again, feeling the praise wash over him and settle in his gut like a heavy weight as he squirmed. 

It was over far, far too quickly. The moment that Lucio took him deeper, the moment his golden, bladed fingers brushed against his base, Valerius broke apart, trembling and gasping as he let his fingers curl down and around the back of the Lucio’s neck. 

There a breadth of silence, of Valerius forcing his mind to come back and return to his body. Of Lucio finishing himself with quick, rough strokes. Of him, looking down at Lu--the Count as the other man gave an almost soft smile. Of that golden thumb trailing across the skin of his naval in an almost caress that made him shiver again. 

But then Count Lucio pulled away, rising to his feet gracefully. He ran a hand through his hair, crafting it into an artful disarray. It was as though nothing had happened. 

Though he supposed it probably meant relatively little. The Count was already gaining quite a reputation for bouncing around between noblewomen and servants alike in very little time. His comments on the hunt, the chase, were now beginning to sound like the tolls of the evening bells. The end of something that had only just started. 

Valerius tried not to feel embittered by that. He focused on making himself presentable, trying to smooth out the creases in his robes. It was futile endeavour, especially in the eyes of the court. 

“Should you return?” He finally asked when the Count had still refused to make any step closer or away. 

“Perhaps? If you are still opposed to the idea of sharing my wine.” That statement was still wrapped in that small smirk and threw Valerius for a loop. 

“I--” What even was the other man’s angle? He had Valerius’s loyalty. He had had that since he refused to kill him. He didn’t have his trust, not yet, but that was a sparse commodity hard to come by. Doing… this, this teasing, this gentleness, would get him nowhere. However… 

“I suppose you could convince me.” He finally whispered. The Count’s eyes flashed red again as he smiled. With a wave of his hand, Valerius’s clothes were straightened and his skin tingled with an almost pleasurable electricity. It was not a trick of the light. It never had been. 

Valerius could not bring himself to care.   
……..  
“Lady Mirium of Jarisa.” Valerius took another sip of his wine after he enunciated the name and pointed to the portrait. He then took a long draught when the Count’s nose visibly wrinkled. The painter, who had been communicating through a series of grunts and pointing with his brushes, glared at the change in expression until the Count returned his nose to its normal position.

He was a beautiful man, Valerius would not even hesitate to say that any longer. The only time he tried not to mention it was within earshot of the man in question, if only to avoid the unfortunate ego boost it gave the other. The man was insufferable enough without it. But even then, Valerious had whispered it to the other upon occasion when Luci--the Count had managed to cajole him into another bout of sexual debauchery that ended with at least him getting drunk out of his mind in Count Lucio’s private chambers.

The Count was regal and stern, even in the outline that had been sketched on canvas. He clutched at the sword of the previous rulers and stood atop the skull of a beast of war. He was the personification of glory in victory. A burning flame brought into flesh. However short lived. Valerius forced his gaze away. 

They had been doing this for close to three hours. It was high time that the Count married. Unfortunately, that came with both the arduous task of painting a portrait of his likeness to send his prefered bride, and the hellish trial of finding said woman. 

The first part was only complicated by the Count’s refusal to pay for anything less than a 2 foot wide and five foot tall portrait. The second part… was just hell because the Count himself was the literal definition of a demon. Valerius was certain of this. “She is too young.” He sniffed. 

“Your Highness, the last five that I presented to you were dismissed as too old.” 

“Because they were, Consul.” 

“Might I state that you are looking at a limited variety of women because of the fact that you came to the throne by usurping the last Count that ruled?” 

“You might, but I will only state that usurping is a strong term to use when the peasants and common men were cheering for me in the streets as I made my way into the city.”

“Peasants and common men are not nobles.” 

“No, I dare say they are far smarter.” There was a bite in the Count’s tone that would have probably caused Valerius to stop short if he had not been drunk. Unfortunately, he was. 

“Ah yes, the people who you soothe and croon over with festivities, wine fountains, and handouts are far more intelligent than the men and woman working to keep your castle running while you flitter through your hunts and balls.” 

“And yet you know so much more about my favors and wines than they, don't you, Valerius?”

Valerius resisted the urge to sneer at the other man. A reaction was what the other man wanted. He put his wine down, plucked the picture off it’s viewing platform, and replaced it with another. “Lady Nadia of--"

“Bring her to me.” Count Lucio said, cutting Valerius off as he stared at the oil painting, “I wish to meet her.”

Valerius just stared at him for a moment. He wondered if the other would execute him if he threw his wine at him. Probably. “Her country is across the sea, Your Highness. Her family might like a promise of proposal and an image of you before sending her anywhere.” 

The Count let out a sigh, almost slouching before straightening in response to another glare from the painter. “Let it be so, then.” He sighed.   
…….

“So she is arriving today?” Lucio asked, and Valerius could only groan, far too invested in his position buried half underneath the copious amount of pillows that were piled at the head end of the other’s bed. The morning sky was gray and he knew that he would have to leave his warm, cosy burrow too soon. He felt fingers run themselves through his unbound hair and down his back and murmured approvingly. “I will take your moans as affirmations.” Lucio whispered, and his voice was soft, almost off-handedly gentle as the bed shifted with his exit from beneath its covers. 

Valerius couldn’t be bothered to respond. He also could not be bothered to worry about just when the guards would be trading shifts. Soon. He would have to leave soon. His head hurt and his stomach twisted, nauseous. It had only been around twelve hours since his last drink. Damn it all. He opened his eyes slightly again. 

Mercedes was on the floor beside the bed and looked up at him with those red eyes of his. Hurting. The thought, no, the voice, rang in his mind. Lucio stopped short and turned to look at him. Valerius just groaned and debated on pulling a pillow over his head. 

“Tell your hound to stop.” He muttered, and heard Lucio clicking his tongue, “I can barely handle the fact that they both talk on good days.” There was the pattering of claws on floor as Mercedes decided to stand and leave his side. Probably to go get scratches from his owner. Master. What have you. Magic bullshit. 

A hand suddenly brushed itself into his hair, threading itself between the waves that seemed to by pressed permanently into the strands from his braid. Valerius startled only to immediately relax when he felt a soothing wave of magic course through the points of contact, finding the pain in his head and numbing it. Lucio was not a powerful mage, but he was versed enough in healing magic from war. It was enough. 

Valerius reached up without even thinking and twined their fingers together. It was gratitude at the relief. It was a response to the constant companionship. It was a reply to the silent, constant query that they were both constantly asking the other. Then he remembered where they were, what they were, and quickly released the other. Lucio-The Count’s hand did not leave right away. But eventually, it was pulled back. 

With a groan, Valerius rose onto his forearms (ignoring the slight pain in his lower back) to glance around the room, watching Lucio dress. He watched as the other’s back muscles twitched and flexed, feeling his cock twitch with futile interest. 

 

“Can you help, or are you just going to stare?” 

“I do not believe that I can make my body go another round, regardless of how it wishes to.” 

“Oh ha ha, I meant with this,” The query was poised as Lucio turned around, his shirts completely undone and lone arm out, as if beseeching. Valerious rolled his eyes and flopped back down. 

“Ask one of the serving girls in the hall. Get me wine.” 

“And bring them in here to see you in my bed? The rumors are already fluttering about, Consul, take care with what you say.” Again, the tone was lightly teasing. He ignored the comment about wine. The Count was in a good mood, then. 

“Come here then, and then leave me to get dressed myself. I need to leave soon enough before the guards’ shift changes.” Lucio followed the order, taking three steps closer to the bed as Valerius curled out of his warm nest of blankets. He reached out, slowly buttoning up the other’s red jacket. His fingers trembled ever so slightly as they brushed skillfully against the golden and black circlets. Within a minute’s time, he was done and pulling away. Lucio put a hand on him to steady him. Valerious had to remember not to lean into the touch. 

“Get dressed and make yourself presentable. I will see you at noontime when the future Countess arrives.” Presentable. Two glasses then. Just enough wine to get rid of the residual shakiness, then.

“So certain that she will marry you, your Highness?”

“Anyone would be a fool to refuse me.” Lucio preened, walking over to where his metal claw rested on its perch. Valerius had to bite his lip to keep from agreeing. He quickly rose, feeling lightheaded, and began to change as well. The sun was still only just beginning to rise. He sighed in relief.

Then he left. 

…….

Valerius’s first thought when seeing the future Countess was “Well, this will be intriguing.” She stepped into the throne room with all the grace of a woman of her standing should, shoulders back, scarlet eyes glinting, not a smile on her face as she took in her surroundings. Pushing down her shawl, she turned to look up at the Count on his throne and performed a single, grave cursy. Not low, not submissive, but a respectful show nonetheless. 

Valerius only raised an arched eyebrow and took a sip of his wine. The Count, however, stood and made his way down to her, his heels clicking with every step he took against the marble. He only stopped when he was but a few feet away and only then to return the bow, “Welcome, Countess, to my city.” He said, greeting her with a voice was that only slightly arrogant and thus showing great restraint, “I trust that your journey here was uneventful?” 

“If by uneventful you mean plagued by storms and waves big enough to keep half of my men below deck, sick as dogs, then yes, Count Ludovic.” 

The court murmured at her tone. Valerius’s eyebrow rose higher. The Count only smiled reaching out to place a kiss on her outstretched hand, “Please, call me Lucio, and your portrait does you little credit, your Highness. I can have my staff provide rooms for your ailing men, if you would prefer?”

The Countess’s gaze softened at that, “Your city is far more beautiful than what I have heard, Count Lucio. You have made vast improvements since your predecessor, and thank you, kindly, for the rooms and supplies.”

“But of course, my Highness. Should you need anything else during the duration of your visit do not hesitate to ask.” 

“We shall see how long your hospitality lasts, your Highness. My men have been held in close quarters for a long time. The few who are not sick are going stir crazy.” 

“Then perhaps they would like to join me and my court for dinner? A bit of dancing and conversation to sooth cramped legs and frazzled nerves?” The Count’s smile was wide and Valerius wanted to slap it off his face. He had not been warned of any such dinner. They had planned for a feast the following day to give the Countess and her court time to recover from the journey. Judging by the looks on the royal cooks faces, they had also not been privy to this plan. One gave him a frantic glance and he tilted his head toward the exit to let them scramble. Turning away, he barely heard the Countess’s response of, “I think that we all would like that very much.”

…….

The Countess was far too cunning a woman for Valerius to actually like. She was brilliant, had taken to having games with him, and actually knew how to rule, which at least made him indebted to her, however… 

“Consul,” She called, and Valerius looked up at her, setting up the game board with a smile. 

“Countess,” He said, indicating to the seat that was opposite him, across the table. She sat down with grace, smiling at him. Her eyes were sharp and Valerius reached up to touch the coil of braid that snaked around his shoulders. A habit that he was still trying to shake after years of time. A useless endeavour. She made the first move, gently pushing a pawn shaped like a white snake forward. Valerius responded by doing the same with a piece molded into the shape of a black wolf. “So, how has the city been treating you in the recent months of you being it’s newest liege?” The wedding had been close to six months ago, and while the Countess had stayed in the city for a few months before that, he wanted to hear her thoughts. Her worries. 

She was, at least, easier to read than Count Lucio. 

Not that that was saying much. They were both damn blank slates and were far too intelligent for him to make an easy guess. 

“I would assume that you would know, seeing as you are usually so loathe to leave my and my husband’s side.” It was a softened jab. A warning of sorts that he probably should take more heed following. Unfortunately, the point was, for the most point, moot because even if Valerius decided to actually take it upon himself to avoid the Count, all that the Count would do would be to continue the chase. As he had been doing for the past four years of rule. The damned man refused to listen to anyone in regards to doing what he wished. 

For the most part. 

Count Lucio had recently taken to shutting himself away in his rooms, refusing to let anyone, Countess Nadia, Valerius, or otherwise in. 

Valerius shook his head. Either way, Lucio did what he wished. 

He ignored the tired look in the Countess’s eyes and was thankful when she returned the olive branch by not commenting on the wine glass that was nearly empty by his right hand. 

“Even so, your Highness, I would prefer to hear it from your own words, rather than let my mind take its own perspective on the matter.” 

The Countess sighed, and for a moment she looked almost fondly at him, “The city is wonderful, though the talk of a nearby plague is beginning to worry me. The fact that my husband took no regard of it when I mentioned it is also bothersome.” She moved another pawn, this one shaped as a white raven. Queen’s gambit. He glanced up at her with a raised eyebrow.

“He tends not to think of things that do not pertain to him.”

The Countess arched an eyebrow, “Bold words from an underling.” Another insult. Bother. Perhaps he should learn to hold his tongue more when discussing the Count’s faults. She was turning out to be a protective wife. Even if she did not love Lucio yet, it was clear that she cared for him. He moved, taking the white snake with his wolf. Then Countess Nadia smiled and it was a sharp thing, “Even so, I am inclined to agree with that assessment. He is far more interested in that portrait that he is commissioning than anything that might be afflicting our people.” 

Valerius winced at the harsh wording, though knew it, for the most part, to be true. He then focused on the middle part of her last statement. “Portrait?” 

“The one with the animals. He wishes to place it in the dining room.” She closed her eyes, bringing another piece, this time shaped as a deer. 

“I… see.” Valerius finally stated. He had actually already taken pains to try to distance himself at least slightly from Count Lucio’s personal life when he married Countess Nadia, to no avail (brushed hands, stolen kisses in the darkened hallways, desperate hands against pale back muscles, and more, with the Countess knowing but not seeming to care), but he had at least managed to keep himself ignorant of the other’s forays into art.

“I would not be bothered by it so much. But the focal character of the damned thing is… unsetting. It’s eyes… I feel as though they look right through me. They follow me.” Valerius looked at her, moving a piece to counter her own, a rabbit. Then he rested his chin on his hand. 

“What do you mean?” 

“They are red and piercing and perhaps he decided to charm the piece, you know how he likes his games, but the eyes follow you.” She shivered, despite the balmy weather. 

Red. Valerius looked away. His hands let out a soft tremble. Red flashes, red blood, red on that golden claw, red of flames growing brighter and brighter. He felt his brow furrow. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the blurred white of Mercedes and Melchior pad over to approach him, sitting at his side and stare up at him. Their attention could only mean one thing. 

Come. Mercedes intoned, resting his nose on Valerius’s knee. Follow. Melchior ordered and nuzzled at his sleeve. The beasts were insistent things, at least when their master wished them to be. 

“It seems as though I am being called.” He said, and the countess nodded. “Shall I leave our game to return to it later?” 

“I am meeting with a personal friend soon, though I might be free to play in the evening after dinner.” 

“I will have one of the maids carry the board inside then.” Valerius said, rising and bowing before following the two hounds. Or, more accurately, was shepherded by them. He very nearly tripped twice and nearly ripped a sleeve when Melchior decided to mouth at it in an attempt to pull him. “Mercedes, Melchior--stop,” 

Worried. Mercedes whined. Alone. Melchior echoed. 

“Then show me and stop pulling.” The dogs reluctantly did as he ordered, dropping his sleeves and leaving him to follow a few steps behind them with uniform whines. They did, however, lead him to the darkened chambers of the other man’s apartments. The only light came from the lit fireplace that burned lowly, barely embers. 

“Your Highness?” There was no response and both of the dogs padded into the rooms and through the doors. He followed them, grow more and more apprehensive with every step that he took. Making his way into the study, he stopped short, finding the other man sitting at his desk, staring at something in his hands, an unfinished painting, gilded in gold and aligned in bold colorations on multiple stands before him. Valerius knocked at the door, and Lucio tensed, looking up. 

Even in the dull light, he noticed the flash of scarlet, mirrored eerily in the eyes of the painted goat. “Lucio?” Valerius found himself whispering. His legs, for a moment, seemed to disobey him, unwilling to move. Lucio only smiled, and it was a twisted, frightening thing. 

“Ah, my Consul, what brings you to my abode?”

“Your dogs. They pulled me away from the Countess and our game. Is everything alright?” He doubted it. But he also doubted Lucio telling him anything. Damn the man and his secrets. 

“Ah,” For a moment, Lucio seemed to hesitate. A look almost akin to worry, to fear crossed over his fair features, “I apologize, then. I did not expect for them to get anyone. Just to leave me.” He looked back down at the object in his hands. 

Valerius frowned. This time he managed to break whatever compulsion was upon his legs and stumbled toward the other man, lacking all of his usual pomp and grace. He saw the golden, glittering horned mask resting in Lucio’s lap. Lucio just watched him with an almost wary expression. Valerius did not let his gaze linger on the other man as he moved to kneel on the ground before him. “Is everything alright?” He asked again, and knew that there were boundaries that he was crossing with this. They did not talk. Not about important matters. Not when things were best left unsaid, unspoken. Hidden. 

He heard Lucio let out a sigh and lean back. That golden claw wrapped itself the mask again, causing the porcelain piece to groan in defiance. Blades against bone.

 

For a time, there was only silence. Then Lucio sighed, “My home was one of war and fear and the only way to live was to be powerful. To be untouchable. Or, at least, to be the last one standing. That Red Plague was a blessing to some. A weapon to be used if you had enough control. Enough power. The right entity that you allied with.The right magic at your disposal.” He sighed, “It always came down to magic.” 

“What… Lucio, what are you even--”

There was that smile again, “I can count the number of times you have called me by that name on one hand. Which I suppose is fortunate.” He raised his claw, still holding the mask, and almost chuckled. Valerius swallowed, feeling a strange sort of guilt settle in his throat. 

“I--”

Lucio was not paying attention. Instead, he sighed and with a quick word, set the mask in his hand aflame in a burst of heat. Valerius didn’t even think to back away. Just as quickly as it started, the flame flickered and died, sparking as it did. As though it couldn’t even summon the energy to continue its existence. As though Lucio had lost the spell. But that was…

Lucio just chucked again. “It used to all be so easy.” He whispered and when Valerius looked up, his eyes were still gleaming that blood red. But they were tired, dull. That actually scared Valerius more than any of the other’s previous flashes of magic had. 

He reached up. He was unable to help himself. The kiss was gentle. Soft. Said far too much if only because neither of them had ever been good at communication and had been too busy hiding from the other and from themselves. 

And it was far, far too late. He saw that in the other’s eyes as he pulled away. 

But as he looked down and began to lower his hand, he felt the skin of Lucio’s forehead press against his own. The softest, quietest whisper of three words flittered across his mind before the other pulled away, leaving him adrift as Lucio rose from his seat. When Valerius looked up, he saw that the red has both spread and retreated, no longer glowing, but now overtaking the other man’s sclera, having left his iris. Fear gripped at Valerius’s mind. Lucio must have seen the panic flicker across his face. He just smiled, bitter and fearful in turn. 

“Ready the city’s responses for a plague, Consul, and tell my wife that she will be most likely handling the city affairs for a while.” 

Valerius did just that. Then he drunk himself into a stupor. 

……

And so the city was overtaken by that damned plague, and the Countess tried her best to keep the public under control. The Count lied in bed, sequestered away from the healthy. The doctors refused to let anyone in. Valerius was stuck drinking, residing over the justice system, and watching Mercedes and Malchior pace worriedly, going from his bedroom, to their master’s, to the stairs, then back again.

He is the one who asked Nadia to call every able bodied mage to the castle in the hopes of finding a cure, an action to which she quickly agreed, having stated that she had already been talking to a friend. A white haired fortune teller doubling as a magi of old. A man by the name of Asra who walked in dreams the same way that most would walk in their awakened hours. Valerius had not been sure what a diviner could do against a plague that wracked the physical world, but he hadn’t been about to question his Countess’s judgement or refuse any potential help that could be offered. Instead, he put far more of his faith in the physician, the far-traveled plague doctor. But, oh, what a mistake that turned out to be. 

He had been with the hounds, and, looking back, a part of him almost had to laugh at the irony that those two had not reacted at all to the events of that night. He had been the one who decided to go to that room. 

Because he was weak. 

Because he was scared. 

Because he was drunk and half crazed by the repeating refrain of “The right entity that you allied with.The right magic at your disposal. The right magic.” that echoed in his brain, refusing to let him sleep. 

Because he had wanted to at least speak to the other man before he… before he… 

Because he was weak. 

The first ones that he saw were the four useless colleagues. The second was Dr. Devorak. Then the dogs were running, the nobles were attacking, screeching, and he was choking on ash. 

Then he saw fire. Then he saw red. 

Ha. How fitting.   
…….

The next year passed by in a haze, in a drunken blur of paperwork, anger, panic, and no, no, no, no one goes into the Countess’s rooms except the Head Physician. He didn’t have time to grieve. He barely considered himself worthy of being allowed to do so. 

He tried to execute Julian Devorak. Then the man escaped. 

He tried to get Mercedes and Malchior to leave their position by the stairs, as it was now useless. They only growled and remained there, silent, bygone, sentinels. 

He tried to find a doctor to wake Nadia. She remained asleep. 

He tried to set up the funeral. He was so drunk when the day came that he locked himself in his rooms and refused to show his face. 

He had the painting finished and placed into the dining hall. He refused to even look at it. It wasn’t as though he were eating much anyway. He took his dinner in his study, completed the needed paperwork, ate, slept, and tried not to let the anger fester. 

He failed at that too. 

He wore the Late Count’s sword at his waist, even though he refused to sit at that throne. Even though he had no idea how to wield the weapon. 

And if there were nights where he woke at his desk, with the ghosts of a familiar voice ringing in his ears, pleading for touch, for love, he refused to say anything on it. He refused to cry. Just as he refused to answer the serving girls’ reluctant queries on the bags around his eyes or the ever present downward tilt of his lips. 

He remained. He kept his city surviving. Just as he had years before.   
…….

Then Nadia awakened, both the same and new. Valerius was one of the first courtiers called into her room and she looked at him the way that she had first done that day in the throne room. Valerius did not even need to be told by the doctors about the memories. Or lack thereof. He just bowed, deep and low to ensure that she did not notice the expression on his face. The pain. The sadness was dulled but still present after a year. “It is a pleasure to see you awake again, your Highness.” He said, his voice quiet to keep it controlled and calm. When he rose, there was that flash of almost fondness across her face, though it quickly was replaced by a look of agony. 

He was quickly shuffled out of the room, and was only allowed to send a serving girl, pleasant enough, with red hair and a gentle smile, in there to replace him.

And so the months past. 

And so the time went on. 

For Vesuvia was now a supposed land of peace, and it seemed as though the very earth itself wanted to forget what had happened that night. And who was Valerius to stop it? There seemed to be no point. 

Then Nadia had a dream. Then a small, unassuming, beguiling mage came to the castle, clutching a tarot deck to their chest. 

And then the cards all folded into place.


End file.
